Taking Notes
by Agent Midnight
Summary: 1+2/2+1, 3+4, POV (Heero)-- Heero tries to take notes during classes.


The edge of his Nike sneaker bumps against the rubber lining of my hiking boots; a gentle movement that could very well be a simple mistake as he shifts in his seat. I draw my eyes away from my notebook, shooting a glance beside me to study his calm face as he lifts his finger and turns the page of his novel. He doesn't even offer me the slightest clue that he knows what he's done, so I push the thought away as it being a simple accident due to the traitorous falling asleep of said leg.  
  
The teacher drones on in the background of my mind, telling the class about everything we should have already learned back in high school. Obviously, the teacher thinks this should be the case, as well, because her voice sounds about two octaves lower than the level she always talks at during these classes. I almost felt a brief flood of disappointment when she announced that we were going to be watching a slide movie and that we should have about fourty notes written about the lecture. Taking a quick peek at my notebook, I press my pencil on the next available line and mark down a sketchy six. With a soft sigh, I look back up as the room is encased in darkness for about two seconds as the next slide moves into place and appears on the white board.  
  
His sneaker bumps my shoe again, softly drawing my attention back away from the lecture. He's still reading his damned book, his face twisted in a look of pure concentration that I've only seen when he's reading those horror novels. His fingers curve around the paperback book, his nails resting along the cover as if the book was the most special thing in his life. And at this moment, in this classroom, I don't doubt that that book is all he wants to be focusing on.  
  
The notebook sprawled open in front of him has a page with his name taking up three lines and about two roughly-scribbled notes on the lecture. I try to focus on one sentence and don't realize I'm doing it until the teacher changes the slides and we are left in brief darkness yet again. Two desk in front of us and off to the side, Quatre looks about ready to tip off his chair, his eyes closed and Trowa lightly grasping the fabric of his shirt to keep him in a semi-straight sitting posture. Trowa himself is scribbling notes like a madman, occasionally glancing up as the slide changes so he can get a visual with the woman's mechanical words. In the desk next to him, a girl wakes up suddenly as her chin slips off her hand and starts falling towards the desk. I watch her eyes move around the room, and even with the lights out, I can tell she's blushing. Her study partner doesn't look much better; head down, drool spilling out onto a sheet of looseleaf paper, twitching briefly from a dream I can only begin to put into a humorous situation.  
  
Duo's shoe slides more firmly against mine, his left leg stretched out between the small space in our desk to line up with my right foot, the action seeming rather normal considering the person I'm sitting next to. If Trowa were sitting here and doing that, I would have thought he had a knife in his shoe and was trying to stab me, but he's down there trying to keep Quatre from falling to the carpeted floor and making a fool of himself, while taking notes, no less. I must admit that that guy has got some talent to be able to multi-task like that. Here I am, getting distracted with a little shoe-on-shoe action.  
  
Quatre tips, and Trowa drops his pencil to place two hands firmly on the boy to keep him in his chair. He notices me watching him and offers up a small smile and a wink, rolling his eyes at his blonde lover's strange behaviors. We share a small conversation, leaving us both smiling and staring at the less-than-aware Winner. Apparantly, Trowa thought blondie would have wanted to pay attention in college. Shock. I tilt my head slowly towards Duo, shrugging slightly until Trowa winks again and turns back to the lecture, not wanting to miss one word of this interesting subject of discussion.  
  
Sarcastic? Me? Unheard of.  
  
I become aware of my friend as he shifts beside me, sighing quietly as he flips the page. I know what's making him so upset, too. He's been reading for about thirty minutes and hasn't come to the end of the chapter. Duo can't stop and take a break from reading unless he reaches a new chapter; said it was bad to stop in the middle because there was a better chance that you would come back and forget what the hell was going on. That's the risk he's willing to take by liking those horrible horror novels anyway; if he wants to read about someone losing their eyes in a freak ping-pong accident, then I sure as hell am not going to deprive him of that pleasure.  
  
Oh, but Heero... what makes you think it was a "freak" ping-pong accident?  
  
Was it even an accident?  
  
He taps me slowly, bumping against my shoe repeatedly until I look over just to make sure that he realizes he's doing it; his eyes stay glued to the book... the page is turned.  
  
I take a quick look around the room like my fellow classmate had done just a few moments ago, then I try to focus my attention back on the lecture after I realize that the number six on my paper is still taunting me. The teacher's words cloud and block themselves out as his foot begins to slowly inch across mine, his probably leaving a dirt smudge on my clean boots. I make a quick mental note in my head to tell him to take his shoe off first before attempting to show affection in the classroom again. I can't offer him one of my rare smiles to show that I like his touch, but he still isn't looking away from the black words of his book.  
  
Huffing, I stare down the desks and almost laugh when Quatre starts sliding down his chair, head tilted back at an angle that just looks painful. After a lot of obvious struggling, Trowa manges to get blondie back to an upright position; being the concerned lover that he is, he even tilts Quatre's head a little foward so he doesn't wake up with a crick. I still can't get over how hard it is to wake that boy after he's fallen into a deep sleep; Quatre wouldn't even wake up when Duo played his god-awful German techno music on full blast in the living room that he had fallen asleep in.  
  
Trowa gives me an exaggerated look, gripping Quatre to prevent the barely preventable connection between said blonde boy and the floor. Those two are becoming quite fond of each other, Trowa had said once. Unfortunately for me, I have never seen Quatre and the floor as they bond, but one can always hope, right? It would definitely make this class a lot more interesting if Quatre spilled to the carpet and started caressing it while sleeping.  
  
Well, I would find it funny, in the least.  
  
Duo abruptly stops his slow journey so his shoe is directly on top of mine; he stays like that for only a moment before he travels off to the opposite side of my foot to come in contact with Quatre's second lover. I feel the rough fabric of his jeans press against mine as he pushes his shoe up to once again meet the rubber lining. His long leg is stretched at an odd angle, his ankle laying across my ankle; his calf touching the area by my bent knee. I nearly growl in frustration as he still refuses to meet my eyes.  
  
The pencil hanging loosely in my fingers is set down quickly onto the desk's surface, my hands reaching under the desk to slide briefly across his leg. I guide my fingers in a small journey up over his knee to rest on his thigh. The teacher continues on, stopping for a second to yawn. Without a glimpse of hesitation, I wrap my fingers around his thigh and squeeze.   
  
His book drops to the tabletop as he jerks his body foward, a laugh spilling from his lips before he can realize what's happening. His free leg kicks out to slam against the inner wall of the desk, the thunk sounding extremely loud in the silent classroom; he ignores his disruption and he forces my hand off his thigh. The teacher freezes as her eyes slide with the rest of the class to lock onto Duo's shocked expression.  
  
Trowa's the first to break the silence, letting out a soft snicker.  
  
The teacher finally sighs as more nervous giggles start from other students. She taps her small hand on the podium and kindly asks for everyone's attention again; then the lecture continues... that was the day's brief excitement for this class.  
  
Duo's laughing eyes won't leave mine as I pointedly ignore him while he gapes like a fish out of water. His smile is what follows that expression, giving me more proof that he isn't mad at me for making him laugh at the potential risk of slight embarrassment. His curved lips tell me that he isn't mad because I did something that made him lose his page; something that made him close the book in the middle of a chapter.  
  
Finally, he settles back in his chair, eyes now refusing to leave me.  
  
I meet his gaze and smile at him, jerking my head towards his abandoned book. He shrugs one shoulder slightly before turning his eyes to the novel that had taken up so much of his time. His fingers reach out and caress the cover again, lightly running across the slightly bumpy lettering of the title, and then down across the picture to the author's name. Duo begins to cup the book in one hand, bringing the other around to lift it off the table so he can open it again.  
  
Startled, I reach down and grab the edge of his chair, quickly tugging him closer. The chair slides easily across the carpet, and I don't stop until he's sitting directly next to me, the book loosely draped in one hand. His eyes lock onto mine and he smiles again, leaning towards me in what could have been an instinctual movement. We both know this isn't the case.  
  
On and on and on, the teacher continues, and I wait for my cue.  
  
Her finger tightens on the button in her hand, and the room falls into darkness.  
  
I lean over and place a quick kiss against his smiling lips, the light flashing back on as I straighten and move away.  
  
He folds his hands politely in his lap and focuses on the lecture, his smile dulling to a slight smirk. I barely notice that his book is still discarded on the table.  
  
Underneath the desk, his Nike shoe bumps against the edge of my boot again.  
  
And like good students, we wait for the slides to change and the room to spill into darkness. 


End file.
